


5 Times Peter Walked Morgan To School And The 1 Time...

by breadknee



Series: 5+1 Irondad Works [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Brother-Sister Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Some Humor, Tags May Change, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, he's got two kids now, lots of crack moments, obviously, possibly, tony really getting into fatherhood guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 08:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18752497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadknee/pseuds/breadknee
Summary: Did you know? It's bad luck to say 'have a good day.'Or: Peter Parker is pulled into the Stark family household and becomes a brother.





	5 Times Peter Walked Morgan To School And The 1 Time...

**Author's Note:**

> This fic may have some Endgame spoilers eventually, but I'm actually playing around with my own universe at the moment, so all tags are subject to change! Enjoy!

“Pete.” Peter sighs, but it comes out more as a ‘huh’ than exasperation. “Spider-Boy.” A nudge on his leg, hard.

“Spider-Man,” he mumbles, trying to ignore the prodding on his ankle.

“Get up or I swear I will make you clean out Hulk’s room.”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Peter jerks awake, ripping himself out of his dream with a wrinkle of his nose. It takes a second for the events to catch up to him, and he rubs the scratchy blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs between his fingers. “Uh.”

“Oh, good, you’re awake. Finally.” Tony sits down heavily in the chair across from him, sipping on a large mug of coffee. “You slept like, what, eleven hours? Passed out here last night while you were scrapping together some robot for your robotics team or something,” he supplies without question, flicking through videos on his phone with his brow furrowed. “Morgan said not to wake you, but she probably wants to see you before she heads off to school.”

Peter rubs his eye with the sleeve of his shirt and runs a hand through his flattened curls. “Yeah? Morg’s up, right? I can take her to school.” It takes him a moment to detangle himself from the weird blanket draped on his body (he’s a restless sleeper) as Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“You sure about that? She’s got class in like,” he pauses to squint at the time on his phone. His glasses rest on the table beside him, ignored. “Forty-five minutes. You got time to shower and all that before she’s gotta go? What are you, The Flash?”

“Oh, oh, yeah definitely.” Peter jerks his head up and down quickly, straightening his shirt and wrinkled jeans and shooting off the couch. “Not The Flash, I mean, but I got this. Yeah. Totally.” He gathers up the blanket and sits it back on the seat gently, dragging his fingernails through his hair sleepily. “Um, Mr. Stark, where’s the bathroom again?” Tony watches him silently for a minute, sipping his coffee nonchalantly, and swallows.

“Down the hall, same as it was yesterday.”

“Right, right, sorry.” He accidentally whacks Tony’s knee as he trips over the table leg. “Sorry.” Peter (really, really embarrassingly) stumbles over his shoes on his way to the bathroom, careful not to be too noisy as to wake Mrs. Stark in her room. Not like he’s been lectured before about that. _Yeah._ He accidentally slams his foot against _another_ crooked end-table, the noise echoing loudly through the cottage, and he curls his hand into a fist to stop himself from calling out. There’s a muffled snort from the living room.

..

After his short shower, he pulls on the clothes he leaves here just in case something were to happen to the ones he was originally wearing, either through missions or lab days with Mr. Stark. There’s a slight tinkle of toys wafting from Morgan’s room.

“Morg?” Peter gently raps on the wooden door with his knuckles, admiring the thousands of ittle stickers adorning the wood. There’s practically everything you can think of on them. Cats, dogs, tiny flying Iron Mans and swinging Spider-Men, a random Mjolnir and the occasional flying arrow. There’s a whole collection just of different colors and unique rocks (she really wants to be a archeologist right now, much to Mr. Stark’s dismay). Every holiday has a small area of stickers at the bottom right corner of the door, including Saint Patrick’s Day and Hanukah, even though the Starks aren’t religious. Sprinkles of little cars and unicorns are mixed into the superheroes.

There’s a new sticker, though, one that Peter hasn’t seen yet. It takes him a minute to realize what it is, but it seems to be a tiny handcrafted sticker of an arc reactor – the original. (Mr. Stark got her a sticker maker for her birthday last year. Peter’s swears he’s replaced at _least_ a thousand batteries.)

“Petey?” There’s an excited scamper sounding on the other side of the door until it’s ripped open, nearly tearing it off its hinges. Peter can barely stop himself from falling forward as she does so, losing his balance. “Hi!” She immediately wraps herself around his torso (or tries to, really). “Are you going home?” Morgan pulls away suddenly, her mouth twisted in a pout. She’s trying not to, and he can see the strain of her trying to stop. It sparks a warmth in his chest.

“No, no, hey.” He crouches down and grins, ruffling her hair gently as to not mess up the pretty brown curls she’s got today. “I’m taking you to school when you’re ready, if you don’t mind? I can ask Daddy to take you if you don’t want me to,” he says, swiping a lock of hair behind her ear. “But if you ask me,” Peter continues, leaning forward as if he has a large secret, “I think he needs to have some time alone with Mommy, yeah?”

Pepper and Tony have been so busy lately that they haven’t had a moment to spare in each other’s company. Of course they still sleep in the same bed (if Mr. Stark sleeps at all), and Pepper always presses a warm kiss to his cheek, but they haven’t really sat down and talked in a long while. It’ll be good for them to sit down and have a drink or something.

Morgan giggles and nods, curls bouncing. “Petey can take me.” As if struck by a sudden memory, she steps back and twirls. “Is my dress pretty? Daddy picked it out yesterday.” _And I bet it came with quite the price tag_ , Peter thinks, amused at Tony’s choice to style Morgan in ‘the best fashion available for… smaller people.’ He didn’t pay Peter any mind when he mentioned that Morgan was just going to grow out of the smaller clothes, instead opting to spend thousands on clothes that are only going to last a year, at most.

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?” Peter stands up, wiping invisible dust off his dark jeans. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing dramatically to her. She’s currently in a princess phase and insists everyone treats her as such, which is _extraordinarily_ easy with a father who constantly buys her anything she desires (even if she doesn’t ask for it). Despite this, she’s not greedy or ungrateful, and only asks for the smaller toys. He likes to think she picked that up from him, but it was probably Pepper, honestly. Cap too, if it’s a moral obligation of hers.

“Thank you, Sir Pete,” she replies flawlessly, giving him a sloppy curtsy in return. “Can we have pancakes and orange slices for breakfast?” Immediately the act is gone, and she gathers up her discarded schoolbooks and colorful papers scattered across the floor.

“What are you working on?” Peter twists his head to look at her doodles, but she snatches them away and huddles them to her chest.

“You can’t look!”

“Why not?”

“They’re a secret.”

“For who?” Peter can feel his mouth spreading wider into a large smile.

“You.” Morgan pauses for a moment before continuing. “Daddy. Momma. Uncle Steve. Uncle Thor--“

“Everyone?” Peter offers helpfully, so she won’t have to list every Avenger she’s met. Which is, of course, _all of them_.

“Yep!” Morgan turns and sits the paper on her little desk, smoothing out the crinkles she created by squeezing it to her chest. “You can all share,” she continues, a smile in her voice, “and can put it up in Daddy’s office.”

Peter laughs. “Okay, but you’re going to have to run that by F.R.I.D.A.Y. You know she hates things on her screens.”

“She will! I already asked her,” Morgan replies, sending Peter a wide grin. She grabs her bookbag (he’s not really sure why kindergarteners need bookbags, since they don’t really carry anything?) and sticks her arms through both straps. “I’m ready!”

“Breakfast,” he reminds her, motioning her to the door. She happily trots forward and out the door, immediately making her way to Tony’s side.

“Mornin’, kiddo. What’s on the agenda today?”

“Orange slices and pancakes,” she says simply, looking at Peter as he moves to construct the princess’s desired meal. “Then school. Ms. Bright says we’re gonna look at cool rocks today with some old guys.”

“Archeologists,” Tony corrects, leaning forward to pull his daughter into his lap. He wraps his arms around her in a bear hug, pressing his chin onto her shoulder. “And those ‘old guys’ are gonna show you all about the rocks. And probably old, dead people. Big Purple still your favorite today?”

“Nope!”

“No? Tell me. Little Red? Glowy Yellow? What about Weird Brown?”

“Shiny Blue. Sappy, or something.”

“Sapphire?” Tony picks up his discarded phone to look up the blue gemstone. “This?” He flicks the image onto the large hologram in the center of the room and points at it.

“Ye-es!” She reaches forward to press her fingers into the blue hologram. She twiddles them around, watching as the light shines on her fingernails. “It’s so pretty. Like the ocean.”

“Sure is,” Tony says softly, but he’s not looking at the stone. Instead, he’s curling a strand of his daughter’s hair in his fingers, tucking it behind her ear and into the little bow she has clearly put on herself. He straightens the little red and blue bow with a sliver of a smile.

Peter scrapes together three plates from the cabinet and organizes the food, his without the oranges and Tony’s with another cup of coffee, and calls the two rock-gazing Starks to the table. Tony whispers something in Morgan’s ear, and she giggles as she skips her way to the table.

“Petey,” Morgan says after swallowing a mouthful of _very_ lightly-syruped pancakes with exactly three blueberries on top. Peter can see the mischievous glint in her eye and immediately glances at Mr. Stark, confused and suspicious. “Daddy said-“ Tony coughs into his coffee, giving Morgan a meaningful stare. She challenges him with a sharp glare and sticks her tongue out.

“Mr. Stark said what?”

“Not Daddy,” she concedes and breaks eye contact with her father, starting up again, “but do you have a girlfriend?”

Peter almost chokes on his milk, the liquid going straight up his nose. Through his frantic coughing and wiping of the table, he can hear that Tony is howling next to him.

“F.R.I., did you get that? _Please_ tell me you got that on tape. I need this shown at every Christmas party ever thrown again.”

“Sir,” the program replies, sounding tired, “I get everything on camera, as per your directions.” All this does, unfortunately, is cause Tony to fall into another fit of laughter. Morgan is joining in now, her sticky fork now sitting on the wooden table. Syrup drips off one of the tongs and leaves a drop of syrup on the napkin beneath it.

Now recovered, Peter shakes an anxious hand through his hair, feeling his own laughter beginning to bubble in his chest. “Morgan,” he scolds lightly, fighting a smile.

“Daddy said to ask you,” she huffs, sitting back and crossing her arms. _Stubborn as her father. Honestly,_ he thinks, exasperated. “Wait!” She wiggles forward in her seat, placing her elbows on the table and widens her eyes. Her white sleeve is dangerously close to the spilled syrup. “Or is it a boyfriend!”

Peter looks at Tony and scowls. Tony is chortling again, wiping tears from his eyes as he struggles to gain composure. “Morgan, we have to leave soon,” he says instead, voice pitched higher, “eat your pancakes.”

“You didn’t answer!”

“At least your oranges.”

“Daddy, he’s not answering!”

“Kid, answer her,” Tony chirps in unhelpfully, pouring way too much creamer into his coffee. Peter doubts he’s even watching how much he’s putting in, way too focused on teasing Peter.

“I don’t think, um, I _should_ —”

“Why not?”

“Yeah, Spider-Boy, why not? You keepin’ secrets or something?” He finally stops dumping creamer in, stirring the coffee with a grimace.

Morgan stuffs a bite of pancake into cheek and chews thoughtfully. “I like MJ,” she mentions, which is _really_ not helping his situation. “And Neddie!”

“Can we not—”

“What if it’s some other kid?” Tony shifts in his seat to look at Morgan, popping an orange slice into his mouth. “Someone we don’t know about.”

“Like another girl or boy?” Tony nods thoughtfully as he chews. “Is Daddy right?” Morgan fixes her eyes on Peter, insanely curious.

“We’re going to be late,” Peter manages to get out, scooping up Morgan’s plate and his own and tips the last of their cold food into the garbage. He’s rinsing the plates when Tony adds his into the sink, leaning his hip against the cabinet.

“Nothing wrong with it, kid.”

“I know that, Mr. Stark,” he says quickly, frantically grabbing the dirty plate and sticking it under the faucet. “It’s just um, weird, I guess, to mention it to her.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know—”

“You’re her brother, it’s normal to ask those questions.” Tony is watching him seriously, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. It’s like he doesn’t even realized that he’s called Peter Morgan’s _brother_ , which could just mean—

“Brother?”

“You think I’d let someone so close to her who isn’t family?” His mentor wrinkles his brow in confusion. “Anyway, now that it’s entirely established you’re family,” he continues, and Peter can see the awkwardness in his stance, “you’d better be off to school. If she’s late and gets in trouble I’ll have Cap kick your ass again.” Peter cringes at the memory. He winces at the phantom pain in his ribs.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” He clumsily turns off the faucet and dries his hands, turning to snatch up his bookbag and swing it onto his shoulder.

“Pete,” Tony says seriously, leaning against the open frame of the kitchen.

“Huh?” He spins around, nearly smacking Morgan in the face with his bag. “Oh! Shit, I’m sorry, Morg, sorry, sorry.” He dips down to gently take her face in both hands, lifting it up and down to make sure he didn’t hurt her. “You okay?”

“I’m okay!” She tugs on her bookbag straps and makes a fish face at him. “See? You said a bad word.”

“Okay, okay, good.” He looks up at Tony, concerned. Morgan pouts, annoyed that Peter ignored her scolding, but she drops it in favor of stuffing her new crayon box into her bag. “Something wrong, Mr. Stark?”

“You have syrup in your hair,” he says, eyes crinkling with a smile as he motions to the wet curls. “You should do something about that. Maybe you’ll get a kiss from that MJ or something today, yeah?” Peter looks down at Morgan again, face bright with embarrassment as he pinches the wet hair between his fingers to wipe the syrup off.

“Shut up.” Tony lifts his hands in a dramatic defense, shaking his head.

“Whatever, kids, just leave. Go get on a bus or something. Bye. See ya. Won’t smell ya later.” He presses a kiss to Morgan’s head and waves half-heartedly, walking off to the basement to tinker with his new time machine or whatever. For the past few weeks he’s been claiming it’s the best thing he’s invented since his arc reactor, but refuses to let anyone see the product itself. Says it’s dangerous or something.

“Petey.” There a small hand pressing into his hip, warning him of the time.

“We’re leaving, alright? Come on, we can walk. Get some fresh air and all that.” He takes her offered hand and peels open the door, ushering her out as he glances at the time. “Bye, Mr. Stark!”

“Bye, Daddy!” There’s a small clatter from the bottom floor, but there’s an echoed ‘bye, honey!’ through the floorboards.

They’ve been walking for a few minutes, with the occasional point to an interesting object or excited ‘hi!’ to passerby when Morgan speaks up again, yanking on Peter’s hand as she skips forward, waits until he can match her stride, and does it again. “Did it hurt?” Honestly, he’s caught off guard. Though he doesn’t really know what she’s talking about per se, he has a pretty good inkling of it.

“Did what hurt?”

“When Daddy came home a long time ago, he said that my brother died,” she explains casually, using her free hand to pat her bow as if making sure it’s still there. _Mr. Stark was drinking again?_ “But you’re back and he stopped coming home when it was really dark. Did it hurt?”

“Dying?”

“Yeah, but Mommy said not to ask. I think Daddy wants to know though.” She bites her bottom lip, as if she’s shy or guilty about asking.

“I don’t remember it, actually.”

“You don’t?”

“Not really.” He shrugs, careful not to pull his hand away from hers. “I just remember suddenly realizing I was somewhere else and that Mr. Stark hugging me. Not really much else. It was kind of like I was asleep, but I don’t remember falling asleep or waking up.” He probably shouldn’t be so honest with a child, but no one’s ever really asked him what happened while he was ‘away.’ They all tend to dance around it, like he’ll be upset if they ask.

He genuinely means that he remembers nothing. One moment he was desperately clawing at Mr. Stark because he felt so sick and weird, like something was wrong and he didn’t know what or how to feel about it, and the next he was walking into Mr. Stark’s arms around a mass of people who all looked nearly torn to shreds. They all looked alive, but so, so different. It was like a large chunk of time was missing from Peter’s memory.

Of course, it turned how he was missing _five years_ worth of time and memories because of his ‘death’ on Titan. It wasn’t all bad, honestly. Except for the looming threat that Thanos is still out there, and for some reason reversed the snap himself. The Avengers know next to nothing about why he reversed everything he did after five years, but they’re quite comfortable sitting back for a while and letting things happen as they may. There’s still that restless, unsettled element to everything, and Peter knows there’s probably a war on the horizon, but for now, he has to take Morgan to school, and that’s all he cares about.

Even more so, it wasn’t that bad because Morgan was born. Tony Stark finally got that happiness he deserved with Pepper and his daughter, and he’s reformed the Avengers completely without any hesitation or aggression in the ranks. And there’s a bunch of newbie Avengers like himself that are going through training under Captain America and Natasha a weekend a month, free of charge. It’s too bad Mr. Stark can’t be there often, as he’s building up a new company in Morgan’s name so she can have the fortune to fall back on when she’s older. College and a house and stuff. The company is designed to support all families that suffered from The Snap with the essentials in a cheaper, more environmentally-friendly packaging that is easily accessible and healthy.

It’s really, truly amazing. The food’s good too.

“Hmm.” Morgan breaks him out of his daze, jerking him back into consciousness. “Good,” she says simply, looking up at him with a bright smile. “I don’t want my brother to be hurt.”

“Thank you, Morg,” he laughs, giving her little hand a tight squeeze. Swinging their hands back and forth, the two found siblings march up the path to Morgan’s little private school.

“Have a good day.” Peter crouches to give her a hug after he’s signed her in. He’s going to be a bit late for his first period, but it’s okay. His teacher isn’t all that strict about attendance anyway, especially after the events that happened. A lot of kids don’t show up to classes in the morning due to trauma and PTSD. Nightmares, too.

Morgan sniffs and sticks a hand on her hip, mirroring a shorter, dainty version of her father with the attitude she’s oozing. “Don’t tell me to ‘have a good day,’” she commands, lifting her chin pridefully. Peter has a mini, internal breakdown, panicking about what to say back or how to explain this to Mr. Stark later. Fortunately, she’s joking, and gives him a little wave in apology, something she’s picked up from the man himself.

“It’s bad luck!”


End file.
